"This doesn't look right," said the Phantom. "Keep playing!" said the Wabbit. The Phantom picked his way along his Dobro until his cloak grew frayed. Somewhere a train slid through. Lights flickered. Opera lovers passed. And still the money kept coming in. The Wabbit started to sing. "Underneath our fur today." "We've got cash with which to pay," replied the Phantom. "But they won't let us in," shouted the Wabbit. "No! They won't let us
in!" yelled the Phantom. "It's our skin," screamed the Wabbit. The Phantom threw his cloak wide as he addressed the opera goers. "My skin's seen better than this." The Wabbit leaned forward, hissed in a stage whisper and pointed to the Phantom. "His skin
is better than this." Applause rang out. Coins made a clinking clanking sea on the sidewalk. "Don't stop," smiled the Wabbit. The Phantom sang like he'd never sung before. "Please don't reject me. Let the night digest me." Now there were more opera goers outside than inside - and they crowded round. "Tell me the way, to my next opera show," sang the Phantom. "In his grotto he will play. In his grotto he will play," sang the Wabbit. A gasp rose from the audience as a train passed through the front of the theatre. Everything shook. The Wabbit gripped the Phantom's cloak. Then he hung on tight as the theatre dissolved ...
